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flakes or corn chipped away.
my brain is so kind to me. makes me sick with joy. i'm smiling so wide! i laugh but can't type it out it would look false and meandering and like a joke like the joy on my arm
my arm! fuck you memories! you're my ketamine but like, in dreams. oh how devoted and stupid! mumbles the partition
i go to sleep shaking with sobs and weeping and crying like 10 year old me when mom had left for another faraway destination. i wasnt 10. who gives a shit. i never mattered! in the first place!
decisions decisions
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you coincidentally proved to me that i'm not a person! i'm an overloaded and doomed nuclear reactor radio television highway boomer walking all doped out on stereoids and happy pills. i mix words around. like a bloody game of intestinal scrabble. no don't look at me
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pclysemia · 15 hours ago
The two poems are at the very centre of the film’s discourse: the trope of nostalgia accompanied by the anxiety of untranslatability developed in the preceding scenes finds its ‘resolution’ in the two readings. The setting in which the poems are presented is itself notable – Gorchakov declaims ‘As a child I once fell ill …’ on his way to the ruined and flooded church, while Domenico recites the Italian version of ‘Si oscura la vista – la mia forza …’ inside it. The building itself embodies the impossible possibility or possible impossibility of translation. It is a defective construction, which, apart from the leaking roof (a trope recognizable from other Tarkovsky films), is filled with water and rendered uninhabitable. The idea of a building as a shelter that protects humans from nature’s elements is thus undermined: the inside vs outside binary opposition is overcome.
The building where the two poems are recited acquires an explicitly theological status (even if one disregards the fact that it is a former church). In a certain sense, it follows the convention set by the Pantheon in Rome, which has a round opening oculus (or Great Eye) in the top of its dome. In the Pantheon, the oculus has always remained open, allowing rain to enter and fall to the floor, from where it is carried away through various drains. Moreover, it admits the only natural light into the interior of the edifice. The Roman church and the ruined construction in Nostalgia are thus both exposed to natural phenomena and are capable of bringing together the terrestrial and celestial strata.
However, unlike the Pantheon, the flooded church, together with other buildings within the film (such as Domenico’s house and the ruins of San Galgano Abbey that appear right at the end), has ceased to perform its original function – to provide a space for worship or shelter. The deficiency of these structures, seen through the mythical prism, leads to a deficiency of translation. The constructional failure leading to the linguistic one is at work in Nostalgia’s flawed buildings; this twofold failure is exemplified by the Tower of Babel phenomenon, which has already been discussed. The builders hoped that their project would bring into existence a place of ultimate unity – the monolithic Tower. However, the demolition of the as yet unfinished edifice left these hopes unfulfilled: ‘The “tower of Babel” does not merely figure the irreducible multiplicity of tongues; it exhibits an incompletion, the impossibility of finishing, of totalising, of saturating, of completing something on the order of edification, architectural construction, system and architectonics’ (Derrida 1985: 165).
Benjamin’s metaphor for translation as ‘a royal robe with ample folds’ (Benjamin 1996: 258) is a very apposite reference point for this sequence, as it utilized spatial categories. The fact that the language of translation always remains unsuited, overpowering and alien to its newly acquired content creates a disjunction which ‘prevents translation’ (Benjamin 1996: 258). In the same manner, the Cistercian church envelopes the Russian house with more than just ample folds. As the camera zooms out, it appears to consume the house completely. Artificiality and extreme stylization are the principal qualities of this final sequence.
The translation of the Russian landscape into the Italian church, or vice versa, is the climactic episode of the film and is also its end. From this perspective it is interesting to note the double meaning of the Greek word nostos, which simultaneously stands for a homecoming or homeward journey (for example, the return of Odysseus and the other Greek heroes of the Trojan War) and, in a more general sense, signifies the conclusion of a literary work. While nostalgia is a painful (algia means pain) longing for home, the end of Nostalgia is a mortal (more than painful) homecoming, which also functions as an ultimate conclusion to the film.
Nariman Skakov, The (im)possible translation of Nostalgia (Studies in Russian and Soviet Cinema Volume 3 Number 3, publ. 2009)
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rampagingkillerrobots · 21 hours ago
Ask me about my Dark Night of the Soul sometime. “A fondness for drugs” is putting it mildly.
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i don't need to drink anymore to lie on the floor face down like this, with greed in my eyes for the door or the other dark spaces; the carpet is rough tonight even through my
black shirt;
i don't need to drink to feel even more hopeless because this lack of love is enough. (and then i realize that i'm over-thinking again. or using 12 words when 3 will do. and i bleed a little more)
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emikanashi · a day ago
J'ai récemment vu "Nous sommes des fragments" de l'émission Camera Obscura de François Theurel et il y a beaucoup de choses qui ont résonné. Tellement fort, que j'ai écrit ce texte dans les 10 minutes après visionnage.
J'ai décidé de le publier 1 mois plus tard, sans retouche, brut, comme il m'est venu.
~ Fragments de soi ~
"Nous ne sommes que des fragments"
Cette phrase qui revient et qui fait écho en moi.
Cet extrait, ces mots qui me parlent tant...
"It all just disappears doesn't it? Everything you are, gone in a moment like breath on a mirror. [...]
But times change and so must I.
We all change, when you think about it.We are all different people all through our lives and that's okay, that's good you've got to keep moving so long as you remember all the people that you used to be.
I will not forget one line of this, not one day, I swear."
A chaque évolution de personnalité, c'est comme si le moi d'avant mourrait.
Un cycle qui se termine après une infinité de nouveaux moi et de nouvelles vies.
Chacunes se souviendront des précédentes et à la fin, la somme de tous ces fragments, de toutes ces vies, de toutes ces Emi, seront là,dans cet ultime instant, dans cette dernière mort, pour former qui je suis totalement.
~ Un cycle quasi infini ~
Cette idée de cycle, de multiplicité de moi me revient souvent et depuis presque toujours.
C'est pour cela que dès vers 12 ans j'ai voulu me faire tatouer un orobouros (j'ai attendu près de 15 ans pour le tatouer😅).
Au début, les cycles sont très courts, on naît et on meurt pour laisser naître un nouveau soi, à une vitesse phénoménale.
Plus on prend de l'âge et plus les cycles sont longs.
Nos différents moi vivent plus longtemps et perdent l'insouciance de ceux d'avant, alors c'est parfois difficile de laisser la place à un nouveau moi.
Dans les periodes douloureuses, la naissance du nouveau moi était laborieuse et la mort de l'ancien apparaissait, longtemps après, comme un soulagement.
Parfois il en faut peu : une rencontre, la découverte d'une œuvre, un paysage à la beauté tellement belle que j'en pleurerai, ce genre de choses peuvent suffire à faire naître un nouveau moi et l'ancien meurt dans un moment de plénitude. Sans regret.
"Le Roi : Tu m'avais prévenu trop tôt. Tu m'avertis trop tard. Je ne veux pas mourir... Je ne voudrais pas. Qu'on me sauve puisque je ne peux plus le faire moi-même
Marguerite : C'est ta faute si tu es pris au dépourvu, tu aurais dû t'y préparer. Tu n'as jamais eu le temps. Tu étais condamné, il fallait y penser dès le premier jour, et puis tous les jours, cinq minutes tous les jours. [...]C'est ainsi que l'on s'entraîne."
Ionesco - Le Roi se meurt
La Mort ne m'effraie pas car elle me paraît aussi naturelle que la Vie. Retourner à la Terre, retourner dans le Néant, retourner dans un inconnu.
La Mort est presque synonyme de Vie pour moi. A chaque expiration, je meurs et je vis un petit peu plus.
Sans l'idée d'une fin totale, je n'arrive pas à me résoudre à vivre totalement.
Je suis morte des dizaines de fois pour être qui je suis aujourd'hui.
Ce qui m'effrait, c'est la disparition totale.
~ L'oubli éternel ~
J'ai eu des pertes de mémoires, liées à la dépression, qui m'ont terrifiée car j'avais oublié qui j'avais été.
J'avais perdu des bouts de moi en plus de perdre des souvenirs anodins.
Tant qu'on se souvient, on est pas vraiment mort.
Quand je pense à mon grand-père, je suis  la plupart du temps emplie de joie, car je me remémore des souvenirs avec lui, sa façon de dire "Fais un bi'" ou ses cheveux: un peu blanc, toujours décoiffé mais jolis, ses yeux rieurs et ridés.
Tant que je me souviens de lui, il n'est pas totalement mort, il n'a pas disparu.
Sa présence physique me manque mais il est toujours là, vivant au travers de multiples moi qui ont vécu en même temps que lui.
~ L'oubli. S'oublier... ~
Chez moi, cela engendre une peur immense : la perte de réalité.
Si je ne me souviens plus, je ne sais plus qui je suis.
Si je ne sais plus qui je suis, je ne sais plus si ce que je vis est réel.
Se souvenir de chacune de ses petites vies précédentes, de ses moi uniques qui ont parcouru ma vie, c'est un chemin pour accepter qui je suis, qui j'ai été et qui je serai.
Même si j'ai des moi dont j'ai eu honte, mon moi actuel essaye de les accueillir dans la bienveillance et la compassion.
J'ai hâte que mon prochain moi découvre tous ceux qui l'auront précédé.
Par quelle expérience de la vie ce moi futur va t'il naître ?
~ Emi Kanashi ~
Réflexion inspirée par cette vidéo 👇🏻
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helgon · 2 days ago
“This is the difference that hedonism makes: To locate joy and love and pleasure in the lap of light “knowing neither evil nor good” puts knowledge in the dark. It is a brain chemistry of naked injury and chronic despair that Mimnermos assumes for this moment of knowing. [...] Like sex, light is not a question until you are in the dark. Mimnermos has no answer to give. Instead (for he is a scholar after all) an epistemology: “...a lame man knows the sex act best” (fr. 23). This sentence, usually recorded among dubia et spuria in respectable editions, is thought to be a piece of proverbial wisdom learned from the Amazons one summer when he traveled in the Black Sea regions. Yes, there were still Amazons in those days, as there was a true physics of lust. “You are its ore,” one of the big women said to him the day he left.”
— Anne Carson, “Mimnermos and the Motions of Hedonism”, in Plainwater: Essays and Poetry
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wonderlandwonderwall · 2 days ago
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“I was utterly ridiculous there, with my little intellectual crisis, in the middle of the street, among people – the brawlers and the beaten – who amounted to something, had a cause, a calling. I felt alone, unarmed, useless, in a wave of life that was passing me by implacably, throwing me aside, and taking the others on forward with it.”
Excerpt From: Mihail Sebastian. For Two Thousand Years, translated by Philip Ó Ceallaigh
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barbieaiden · 2 days ago
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fragments - part 12
previous part / next part
[transcript under the cut]
Aiden: Listen, Sam and I have been trying to figure out what to do for Kell’s birthday.
Connor: You two know him the best.
Aiden: Well, yeah, but we have this… obstacle. [Glances at Rhys]
Rhys: Eli and I are good.
Aiden: Won’t it be, you know, super awkward?
Rhys: We talked about it. We agreed it’s fine.
Aiden: Okay, good.
Connor: Speaking of Eli—
Rhys: No.
Connor: All of this doesn’t add up to me.
Rhys: I’mso sorry I didn’t break up with Eli in a way that makes sense to you, Connor. I’ll do it differently next time.
Connor: Hear me out.
Rhys: No.
Connor: I have one question. One.
Rhys: [Sighs] Well, you’re going to ask me anyway, so…
Connor: Does this by any chance have something to do with Noah?
Aiden: …oh my god. It does.
Rhys. No. What? Why would this have anything to do with Noah?
Aiden: Well, I mean… there are a lot of reasons it could be about Noah.
Rhys: Like what?
Connor: There’s the classic of “Rhys getting a boyfriend only to realise his feelings for Noah didn’t just go away”.
Rhys: Oh, yeah, sure, I realized that five years into a relationship with someone I saw a future with. Yeah. Even if that was the case, it’s not your business. This is getting really fucking frustrating. I can’t talk to any of you without Eli getting mentioned.
Aiden: I mean… I think you’re putting a lot of guilt on Eli. Especially if this is about Noah.
Rhys: He’s going to blame himself no matter what I say.
Connor: Would probably be a bit easier on him if you told him the truth.
Rhys: I did.
Connor: I don’t think you did.
Rhys: I frankly don’t care what you think, Connor.
Connor: I’m not trying to argue with you.
Rhys: It sure feels like it.
Connor: Well, it’s not the case. You have to understand that we’re all… confused. This isn’t like you at all. It only makes sense to me if Noah’s involved.
Rhys: He’s not.
Connor: We care. That’s all.
Rhys: And I’ve told you plenty of times that all of you have a strange fucking way of showing it.
Connor: It isn’t just about you this time, Rhys.
Rhys: Look, it’s not like I’m trying to guilt Eli. If this was about something else, I would’ve told him.
Connor: …sure.
Rhys: Connor, I swear to—
Connor: When’s Kell’s birthday?
Aiden: Next Saturday.
Connor: You okay?
Aiden: Yeah, I just… or… it doesn’t matter. Sorry for bringing Eli up.
Rhys: It’s fine.
Aiden: Well, anyway, we were thinking…
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“Indeed, in the very hour when I am deeply sad I sense, subconsciously, the metaphysical tenor of my soul taking the stage.”
Mihail Sebastian. For Two Thousand Years, translated by Philip Ó Ceallaigh
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